It's not you, it's the fact that I never knew that your father was supposed to heal the wounds not cause them until I was 14.
It's not you it's the fact that I remember the cut on my mom's eye after my father threw a lamp at her. I remember the tears she cried. And when I asked her where she hurt she pointed to her heart.
It's not you it's the day my sister became homeless because she couldn't work because she was severely harmed in a car accident.
It's not you, but when I saw my old lover hanging from the ceiling I decided that would be the last time I ever put my happiness into the hands of anyone else.
It's not you but I know how love can rip you apart and I don't know if I can ever forget that and let you in.